


The oldest, the last

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-03
Updated: 2010-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-10 08:56:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For many years, the young heir to Sunspear was an only child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The oldest, the last

**Author's Note:**

> One of my favorite chapters in ASoIaF is actually the Areo POV. I'm always struck by how lonely Doran Martell has become and now much he loved his siblings. I really wanted to write something with Doran as an only child, before Elia was born.

Prince Doran did not know what it was to have a sibling. Through his afternoons in the Water Gardens, he was provided with examples of the myriad forms such a bond could take; affection and enmity, protectiveness and disdain coexisting in equal measure. When an older brother defended his younger sister from those were teasing her (as squabbles always seemed inevitable), Doran would watch and wonder. 

He had no such similar experiences to draw from. When he concentrated, the first memory he could recall was inquiring after his newborn brother, Mors. One day the infant had been there, and the next he was gone as if he had never been. Doran's inquiries were met with charged silences, and it was then that he began to understand something of death. 

Olyvar had held on longer. So long, in fact, that his older relatives had began to rejoice at the thought of a second Dornish prince. Such was the cold irony of the Stranger that Doran's brother passed away soon after this joyous calm had settled over the family. His father expressed his loss through rage filled grief, while the reigning Princess of Dorne withdrew for a time. If Doran's mother had wept, she did not shed her tears in front of anyone. 

After the colors of mourning had been set aside, she decided to take her son to Sunspear's holy sept. 

As they stood before the altar of the Mother, his _own_ mother lit a piece of incense for him, the brief spark of flame fading into a steadily burning ember. She handed to him then, as thin spiral of smoke filled the air between them with the scent of sandalwood. He placed it in the bowl before them, where it would smolder until its ashes merged with the offerings of the hundreds who came before him. 

"What are we doing, mother?" he asked. She knelt before the shrine, and Doran immediately followed her example. 

"Praying for Olyvar today. And, yes, for Mors, too." She said, closing her eyes. She left no further instructions, trusting to her son's ability to learn. 

After that, she did not speak again for some time. Several hours passed, judging by the patterns of lights streaming in through the stained glass windows. Doran spent at least one of these hours in a state of uncertainty. He may even have slept a little, soon jolted back into consciousness as his legs protested having to sit so awkwardly. 

He attempted to focus his thoughts on his brothers, as his mother had asked of him. It was difficult. They had been in his life so briefly that he was hard pressed to recall even what they had looked like. But they had been _his_ siblings, and he knew, somehow, that time would not alter that. 

Doran's mother stirred for the first time. Her eyes opened, and she inclined her head briefly, acknowledging the idol of the Mother. She rose to her feet, and though one of Doran's feet had fallen asleep he did not trip as he mirrored her actions. 

"Before we leave, I must say something." When his mother spoke, her voice a tad hoarse from disuse. "You will have brothers and sisters one day. I do not intend to leave you alone when I am gone. But please promise to remember Mors and Olyvar." 

"I will, mother," Doran said.

A ghost of a smile appeared on his mother's lips, and she even briefly placed her hand on his head. "I thought so. You've always been a good boy, Doran." And with that, she led him from the sept, speaking no more of what had just transpired. The sun was setting, and night would soon be on them.


End file.
